


Undimmed by Time, Unbound by Death

by Legume_Shadow



Series: Fusions [4]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Oblivion (2013)
Genre: Bucky-centric, Established Relationship, F/M, Fusion-Fic, Inspired and Influenced by Oblivion (2013), Is it a Major Character Death if Character Died in CA:TWS?, M/M, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-11
Updated: 2020-10-11
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:42:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 21,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26945362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Legume_Shadow/pseuds/Legume_Shadow
Summary: I know you, but we’ve never met.  I’m with you, but I don’t know your name.  I know I’m dreaming, but it feels more than that.  It feels like a memory.Alternate Universe - Fusion.
Relationships: Clint Barton & Natasha Romanov, Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov, James "Bucky" Barnes & Natasha Romanov, James "Bucky" Barnes & Peggy Carter, James "Bucky" Barnes & Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes/Natasha Romanov, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, Nick Fury & Natasha Romanov, Peggy Carter & Steve Rogers, Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers
Series: Fusions [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2173047
Kudos: 3





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [in the ruins of our worlds](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23733397) by [made_of_sunshine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/made_of_sunshine/pseuds/made_of_sunshine). 



> First Publishing: October 2020, AO3  
> Disclaimer: All characters (except for the ones created by me) belong to their respective owners. No profit is being made from this work of fiction.
> 
> Soundtrack: [Oblivion (2013) Movie Soundtrack](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Fx2QHiX4snI), by M83

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am attempting to work through a massive writer's block on another fic by going back to my science-fiction roots and writing this fusion fic. There may or may not be future edits to the chapters posted, but this is a 'tinkering' fic for me.

**Chapter 1**

The dream always started out in New York City; never anywhere else.

The Empire State Building, always washed in a faint golden hue; never the colors he remembered reading and seeing in pictures. The noise of the city and sounds of traffic, always muted; never clear enough. The people going this way and that past him, always a blur around him; never standing out.

But, within the dream, always one person who was not washed in fading light, wrapped in muffled noise, or doused in a strange hue. One person: tall, broad-shouldered, strong and square-jawed, handsome when he smiled, and delightful when he laughed. With blue-green eyes like the skies reflected in the clear oceans of a paradise beach, golden hair like a sun-kissed wheat field, and that smile of his, a mirror of the rising sun.

That man always stood a few meters away, always began the dream looking this way and that – as if trying to find someone. And always, when the blurred crowds between them finally parted for that one instant, looked in his direction…

… and smiled.

His heart always skipped a beat whenever that happened. Then, he woke up, just like now. Just like always. Gasping at times, even-breath in others. The man and the golden rays of that man’s warm smile, fading.

A dream that felt like memories.

James blinked, looking towards the vast glass windows that surrounded him. The dark hues of night were fading to the light dawn of a new day. It was warm here, the temperature ambient and set just right, but James always felt cold after having that dream.

And that cold always seemed just a little more pronounced when his eyes strayed over to his sleeping partner. This morning, dark sheets partially covered her naked body; sensuous curves of her full lips, tracing down her from neck to breasts, stomach and beyond inviting arousal even now. Her flame-red, shoulder-length hair was tucked to the side as she peacefully slept the last few minutes before the alarm would wake her up.

As much as James always wanted to reach over and run the tips of his fingers down along the path his eyes had taken, and wake her up with a trail of kisses where he knew she liked, he didn’t. The dream always diminished that want; made what he wanted to do to Natasha feel… wrong.

Wrong not in the sense of how she invited him to bed last night. Wrong not in the sense that after sex, they had silently laid there in each other’s arms for a while before falling asleep. Wrong not in the sense that he constantly woke up before the alarm, always with a feeling of disquiet.

And that disquiet was sometimes exacerbated by his dreams…

… of that man; of the delight he saw in that man’s eyes when laid upon him; of the familiarity. And always not knowing who that man was.

James somehow knew that the sense of wrongness stemmed from not Natasha sleeping beside him, but that something in his gut told him that someone else should be where she was. Having sex with him. Wrapping arms around him when they were just content to lay in bed after a difficult, long day. Waking up with him—

_Beep! Beep! Beep!_

Natasha blinked awake, her wide eyes staring up at him. She smiled and bit her lower lip, as she drew the sheets up around herself in a coy manner. Teasing him as she usually did in the morning.

James forced himself to return that smile; he did so to not worry her. Then, he rolled over, flinging off the sheets that covered him. He sat up, back facing her, and took a deep breath to banish the unease.

It was the beginning of another day in paradise.

* * *

“Mission Control coming into contact in two minutes, James. I see two drones offline, 166 and 172. 166 still has a beacon, but I’m not reading a beacon from 172. Will request re-tasking and further guidance.”

“Copy that, Natasha,” James acknowledged her crisp, short briefing as he performed the final checkout on the Dragonfly. He heard the brief squeal of her connecting comm lines to give the morning brief to Mission Control.

As he activated the Dragonfly’s engines and yanked the stick back to fly up and over, plunging down into the grey clouds below, he caught a glimpse of the massive space station peeking over the horizon.

“Good morning, Pierce,” he couldn’t help but murmur as the tip of the Triskelion, or more commonly called ‘the Tris’ by both him and Natasha, began to rise in its usual orbit.

Alexander Pierce was the commander of the Triskelion, a tetrahedral space station built after the war against invaders – Scavs – from space. Earth had resisted and fought back, eventually defeating the Scavs, but not before the invaders destroyed the moon.

The lack of a moon caused massive tidal shifts, seismic events, and devastated an already war-torn Earth. Not only did nuclear fallout from the war against the Scavs damage the fragile ecology of the planet, now, the lack of a moon had rendered Humanity’s home almost uninhabitable.

For the past sixty years since the end of the war, the survivors had devoted their lives to building and emigrating to a space station to help them migrate and move from their dying world to another – Mars. The sister colony had been established just before the Scavs attacked – hidden away thanks to the low amount of technology contained there.

For him and Natasha, they had been sent down into the last known, barely habitable region to monitor, repair, and maintain the Drones and hydrorigs. The massive rigs sucked what was left of the seawater up, converting it to fuel cells that were vital to sustaining the Mars Colony. Once their years-long mission was complete, they would go up to the Triskelion and finally join the others on their journey to Mars.

Two weeks.

They would finally be joining the others in two weeks—

“Good morning Natasha and James,” the voice of Alexander Pierce briefly drew James’ attention away from his patrol flight in and around the hydrorigs.

“Good morning, Director Pierce,” Natasha answered for both of them.

It wasn’t that James didn’t feel like greeting Pierce, but that Natasha had an efficient way of wrapping reports and the like to Mission Control. It was why she had been chosen to be the Comm Officer, and he was just the repair guy who flew the Dragonfly in and around the semi-habitable zone.

As Natasha and Pierce exchanged dialogue and information, James marked off 166’s beacon from Natasha’s data packet. In the distance, there was a storm between him and 166, and he wasn’t entirely keen on flying through it. But, to go around meant going out into the radiation zone. 172’s last known location was beyond 166’s beacon—

“109 isn’t operational yet. If you would send the shielding parts we need, we’ll get it back up to operational status. But we copy the criticality of the gap and will try to get 166 up and running,” Natasha’s crisp confirmation drew James back from his analysis.

Drone 109 was still sitting in the repair shop below their quarters. Most of the drone was functional and repaired as best as possible, but the float mechanism and shielding where the exhaust was, had been damaged to the point where James had to scavenge for parts from other destroyed drones.

Though defeated, it seemed that the Scavs still lived in pockets of the habitable zone. They constantly attempted to attack the drones, resisting. At first a nuisance, it was only two weeks into the five-year mission that James almost had a deadly encounter with a larger amount of Scavs than he’d cared to admit.

Mission Control had sent a fleet of drones to eliminate that nest. They all thought that was the end of it. Since then, there had been more and more incidents of Scavs successfully taking down drones.

Worst yet, it looked as if the Scavs were _stealing_ the fusion cores that powered the drones.

“Are you an effective team?” Pierce asked.

It was the usual sign off that their commander asked each morning after the status report for the automated night functions. At first, James thought it was an unusual way of signing off, but eventually got used to it. It was, like Natasha’s way of handling communications, an effective and efficient way to ensure that they were doing well with the relative isolation of being here on the desolate Earth.

“Yes,” Natasha answered. James could hear the smile in that one word. “Never better.”

James heard the squeal of the comm channels being disconnected with Pierce. They had their marching orders. “Guess its into the storm to rescue the damsel in distress called 166,” he stated over the now-private comm line to Natasha.

“I’m sure 166 will grace you with a lovely song of beeps and boops as a reward,” Natasha answered, chuckling. Then, in a more sober, cautious tone, she said, “Be careful going through that storm, James. It looks like a nasty one.”

“What’s a little danger to spice the daily, monotonous life of our tasks up, eh?” he stated, smiling to himself as he heard her exasperated sigh through the comm.

Natasha didn’t seem like a worrywart to him, but there were times when she unexpectedly became overbearing. Too cautious. Seemingly not open to some of his suggestions, especially when it came to exploration. A stickler for the rules that were imposed upon them.

All to keep everyone onboard the Triskelion – and Mars – safe, when they finally rejoined them.

While she never took him up on his numerous offers to fly with him on a patrol run, or to even set foot on the ground outside of their tower, she did have a good sense of humor. For the most part.

James didn’t know if it was just because of what he said at times, or something else, but it was almost always jarring to hear her bold and confident in one sentence, and become meek in the next. He some times wondered if the security wipe of their memories that Pierce had ordered before the start of their mission, contributed to it.

But, he never voiced that to either her or Pierce.

“Just… be careful, James,” she cautioned.

He could tell that she wanted to say more, but was holding herself back. She knew that he found it annoying at times that she was such a hard ass on the rules. But he also knew that he would be able to stave most of her admonishment off with something more reassuring towards her.

“I will,” he answered. “Comm might be a little bit spotty while I’m in there, so don’t worry if you don’t hear from me from time to time.”

“Copy,” she answered, the crispness back in her tone.

James locked in the nav course for where Drone 166’s beacon was coming from. Dark grey, almost pitch black clouds loomed before him. Zipping in, the pitter-patter of rain against the glass of the Dragonfly was loud. Thunder crackled and split the skies with forked lightning.

Jostled around, James tightened his grip on both the throttle and stick, as he maneuvered the Dragonfly this way and that. The winds buffeted him as if he were a mere leaf, laughing in the face of his resistance and determination to push through—

A jolt, followed by a violent shudder cascaded through the Dragonfly. Everything around him immediately shut down as he felt his stomach begin to flip and his horizon dip down. Hit by lightning, he felt himself being pressed into his harness and lifted up off his seat as he immediately let go of the throttle and flipped several switches above him to jump-start the engines again.

“Come on...” he muttered, flipping the row of switches again when that didn’t do the trick. Grey clouds gave way to white, and then the brown-green of the land below—

Smacking the panel with a fist, the glass HUD finally lit up again. He jammed the stick back, throttling the Dragonfly as the ground rushed up to him—

And sharply curved up and away. James couldn’t help but let out a whoop of joy at the death-defying stunt of making it through the storm. It had been a close call, yet it had excited him in a way that he never felt before.

“James, did you say something?” Natasha’s voice crackled through the earpiece.

“Nope,” he answered, grinning to himself as he evened out the trim and continued towards 166’s beacon.

Drone 166’s beacon location rapidly approached. As James crested the Dragonfly over the rolling hills of dark sand, it looked to be within the ruins of a football stadium. Wrecked from sediment from multiple tsunami, James’ attention wasn’t focused too much on what the former structure looked like.

Instead, it was the thin trails of smoke rising from a haphazard ring of disintegrated bodies around 166 that gave him some pause. “Natasha, confirm the remnants of Scavs,” he stated. “Five, looks like. Smoke signature suggests that its been at least an hour. Seeing nothing jumping out at the moment. Looks clear.”

“Bring the drone back for repairs?” Natasha suggested.

“Nah,” James answered. “Damage to the drone doesn’t look extensive. Probably just needs an exhaust replacement. Like all the others. Shielding in that area is still for shit.”

Natasha didn’t immediately answer. But when she did, James heard the worry in her tone. “All right. Be careful, James. I have eyes through Triskelion and the Dragonfly.”

“I know,” he answered, landing the Dragonfly so that its forward facing cameras had a direct line of sight to the drone. Whenever he did that, he knew it reassured Natasha – that she could watch him – keep an eye on his surroundings while he worked.

Taking one last look around before he exited the aircraft, he took up the most common replacement parts with him, secured his rifle onto his back, and approached. He was not surprised to see that the Scavs had scored another uncanny direct hit on the exhaust port of Drone 166.

It was a tiny area to target, but somehow, the Scavs had extremely good marksmanship with the weapons they used. Shaking his head, James yanked out the port and replaced it with the spare he carried.

Time and again, they had told Pierce that the drones sent down to replace the ones declared a total loss had shitty exhaust port shielding. Time and again, that shielding problem was still not fixed.

Going around to the front of the drone, James opened the power core and frowned. “Shit,” he muttered.

“What?” Natasha’s asked, concerned.

“Make that ten missing cores,” James stated, staring down the shaft that used to contain the glowing pink fusion core that powered the drones. “Scavs stole another one. Ten cores in one month. The hell are they doing with the cores?”

“Ten, copy.”

Natasha’s crisp tone jolted him out of the anger that he hadn’t realize that was building up within him. He blinked, confused. He experienced anger before, certainly frustration at times, but never this kind of anger.

It felt dark, like he was choking, a hand squeezing his heart. Like he had no room to breathe, think, or feel anything else. That all he wanted to do was to kill… something… or someone.

He didn’t know where it came from; and that scared him more than the anger.

~~~

She held up a fist, even when her eyes were focused through the binoculars and upon the man standing in the middle of the ruins of MetLife Stadium. Tall, dark-haired, still as handsome as she remembered from long ago. Still possessing the keen intelligence, curiosity, and casual swagger from her memories. But, he didn’t seem like the killing machine he – or rather his compatriots – had been from the decidedly one-sided war.

His and the others’ countenance and purpose nowadays was somewhat different. However, the legacy he and others like him had left was difficult to forget. Or forgive. Her people knew her orders, but it was Fury’s people among them that concerned her the most.

They were itching to kill, itching to get revenge. Their anger was contagious. She understood why, and she knew that she herself was not immune to it. The man who repaired Drone 166 in front of them had been one of two who had caused the collapse and near-extinction of Humanity.

But that man standing in front of them was not the one responsible for the death of billions. The man standing before them was just a simple repairman. Someone that aided the damnable Triskelion hanging above in the skies.

Aiding and abetting the enemy; treasonable offense, her thoughts droned at her.

But she had been watching Tech 49 for some time now. Those who worked in the Resistance group SSR, had been watching as well. They saw what she saw – and they _knew_ that there was something different about Tech 49.

“Peggy,” one of her subordinates spoke up, voice garbled within the mask he wore. “We really shouldn’t linger. It looks like Tech 49 has almost completed the repairs.”

“Just a few minutes more,” she answered. Focusing her attention back onto Tech 49, she watched as he reached into the core shaft, placing something against the replacement core.

“Ma’am,” another subordinate asked a few seconds later. “Do you want me to send Lucky out?”

Peggy didn’t answer for a few long moments. She knew the dog was beloved by Clint and the children. Clint had been the one to suggest the ‘test’, the one who had as high hopes as she did that perhaps Tech 49 was different than the others – more compassionate. He had, after all, been the one to stay his finger on the trigger of his sniper rifle from killing Tech 49, and reported seeing Tech 49 pick up a book.

A more human, more curious display of humanity that she had not seen from others in the Triskelion’s ilk in a long while.

“Ma’am—” Clint began again.

“Do it,” she ordered.

~~~

“James, behind you!”

Natasha’s cry of alarm, coupled with the hairs on the back of his neck raising at the same time caused James to whip up and around. With his rifle held snugly against his shoulder, he stopped himself from pulling the trigger.

It was only a dog.

Mangy-looking, but a just a dog. It barked several times, seemingly attempting to scare him away, but James didn’t move. He lowered his rifle, then heard the whine and clank of Drone 166 reactivating.

“Go!” he shouted to the barking dog. He waved his hand, trying to shoo the dog away. “Get! Get out of here! Go!”

The buzz of Drone 166, along with its long, deep, bone-rumbling horn that signaled full activation drew his attention away from the dog. He hoped that the dog had been scared away, as Drone 166 immediately focused on him – weapons active.

“Tech 49, James Barnes,” he stated, as he saw the red eye-piece move as if examining him.

He always hated the jolt of fear that ran through him whenever the drones were reactivated. It was programmed to treat anything as potential threats after a sudden deactivation, and rightly so. But there was that one moment between its activation, scanning of him, and accepting his identification that James always doubted that the programming would hold.

A brassy, horn-like sound of acknowledgment issued from 166. Then, as if remembering what had happened to it, the drone turned away and activated its scanners. Blue streams of LIDAR light that panned over the collapsed tunnel for a few seconds.

Finding nothing remaining of the threats that had taken it down, 166 suddenly retracted its weapons. It blasted off not a moment later, sending a wash of heated air and dirt flying. James barely had time to duck and cover his face so he wasn’t breathing in the particulates.

As he waved his hand around to try to clear the air, he shook his head. “You’re welcome,” he muttered.

Programmed with the most basic of functions, the drones did not deviate – that was to kill anything that registered as a threat in their IFF logic. Most of the time, that logic just traced the shape of a Scav – humanoid, unfortunately – and disintegrated it with a blast. It was why the protocol for both him and Natasha had been emphasized: duck and cover, sheathe weapons if possible, and immediately identify themselves.

Silence rang in the area again, and as James took one last look around, he was a little glad that the dog had not been disintegrated. Wherever that dog was now, he hoped that it would continue to survive.

~~~

“That’s a good boy… good boy…”

Peggy tuned out Clint’s praise of his dog, who had returned at the first sign of activation to Clint’s side. She had to give credit where it was due. This was the second time Clint’s instincts had proven true for the long run. The first was with Black Widow, and the second now for Tech 49.

But there were still detractors. Resistance to accepting that Tech 49 was different. Peggy knew that it would take a long time for people to come around and accept Tech 49, just like how long it had taken – and still was taking – for others to accept Black Widow.

Dialing the radio to another frequency, she tapped the earpiece several times. After three seconds, she received the same pattern in return. “Drone 166 is repaired, break. Tech 49 is headed your way, SHIELD, break. Hawkeye’s recommendation remains the same, over.”

“Thanks, and we’ll take that recommendation into consideration, SSR,” the man on the other end of the radio stated. “Over and out.”

* * *

_Later…_

Drone 172 wasn’t at its last known location. Flying around the area didn’t give him much, as this area was on more unstable ground – softer sediment that could possibly result in quicksand situations for the Dragonfly, if he landed.

But it had been at least two hours since the initial report from Natasha – possibly longer for just how long 172 had been considered offline. That meant he had to go the ground route – carefully search for signs that an aerial pass couldn’t see.

James left the Dragonfly on a flat rock, and took the motorcycle out. It would be safer for him to travel in a much more lightweight vehicle than the heavy Dragonfly through these unstable lands. Slower, but also less of a probability of an encounter with Scavs.

With the beacon of the Dragonfly marked on his small nav map, he took off. He reveled in the wind streaming against his face, the warm sun kissing his skin, and at the vast undulating hills of dark sediment that rolled around him. Spots of green occasionally cropped up over the hills, jumping out like the rabbits he remembered reading in a children’s book.

For hours he rode around the soft flat lands, enjoying himself while at the same time, hoped that the sensors on his motorcycle would pick up on where 172 would be. Then, in the late afternoon, at the peak of a large hill, he stopped and pulled forward his rifle.

His sensors had started beeping – possibly picking up 172’s beacon. Sighting through the scope and in the direction where the beacon was coming from, he saw the remnants of a structure.

Glancing around, he saw no sign of Scav activity. He eased the motorcycle forward and stopped a few meters away from the structure. Climbing out he approached—

“Natasha, I have 172’s beacon in a sinkhole,” he stated, peering into the lip of the structure and panned the activated flashlight around. “No Scav activity on the surface.”

“Copy,” Natasha’s answer was crisp. But a second later, he heard the worry in her tone, “Be careful. I have eyes through the Triskelion for another fifteen minutes.”

James glanced to the north-east. It was late afternoon, with the sun illuminating the setting Triskelion along its orbital path. Fifteen minutes was not enough time, especially since he didn’t know how far, wide, and deep the sinkhole went. But, it had been hours since 172 had been reported offline.

“Copy, fifteen,” he answered.

He braced and anchored the motorcycle as best as he could, and pulled out the climbing cord. Attaching it to his utility belt, he carefully lowered himself into the hole.

Reactivating his flashlight on his rifle, he panned the rifle around, noting that there was a solid-looking ground about nine or so meters down. As for the sinkhole itself – the structure looked somewhat familiar. As if he had seen it in one of his strange dreams before…

A library.

Dusty, debris-covered, with mounds of dirt, broken shelves, scattered and half-torn books all over the place, James landed on the ground. Unhooking himself from the cord, he carefully crept forward, listening carefully. There didn’t look to be any sign of Scavs, but this was the perfect set up for some kind of ambush.

He didn’t know what kind of repairs he needed to do to 172, but at least he could make use of the fifteen minutes that Natasha had eyes through the blurry feed of the Triskelion, to complete a quick assessment. 172 would remain here. Each drone weighed at least two tons, and even he knew the scrappy Scavs were not strong enough to move something that heavy.

Heartbeat loud, but with an eerie sense of calm and control guiding him, James continued forward towards the faint beeping pulse of the drone. Ahead was a long table, flipped over so he couldn’t see the other side. Pausing, he peeked over and took a step back.

There was an enormous ravine between the table and the other side – where Drone 172 was.

Slowly panning his rifle left then right, he spotted a beam that bridged the enormous gap. It was held up by a severely unstable-looking set of cabling and wires.

But… it was the only way across to the drone. James knew just how limited resources were, when it came to the Triskelion sending in replacement drones. With the final exodus date to Mars creeping ever so closer, Pierce had asked them to repair the drones as best as possible – sending in small replacement units such as the exhaust port, instead of full replacement – if possible.

Carefully making his way around and to where the beam was, he poked it with a foot. The creaking sound it made was not reassuring at all. Neither was the wobble. But he had no other choice.

Stepping onto the beam, he tried to get his balance as best as possible before deciding to chance it and ran across the beam. Landing on solid ground on the other side never felt more reassuring than it did now.

Taking another glance around, he still could not hear or see anything. Yet, James couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being watched. Not by the Triskelion or by Natasha from the outside, but by something else within this ruin.

Ahead, the sphere of 172 laid under a tarp. James couldn’t help but mentally chuckle to himself, as he reached forward to remove the tarp. The drone was probably just disoriented and had its optical module damaged—

“What the hell?” he whispered, dropping the tarp.

A globe of the world stared up at him… and directly below that, a pulse repeater. Disguised completely in the sound of the drone. James took a step back—

_Shtk-snap!_

He cried out. Pain lanced up his right leg – a bear-trap sank into him.

“James—!” Natasha’s panicked shout was barely heard by him.

In the next instance, he was dragged forward, into the low tables, rifle nearly torn out of his hands. James scrambled for purchase on his rifle as he heard and saw the tell-tale signs of Scavs scrambling all around the perimeter of library.

Firing blindly into the area where he was being dragged towards, the line suddenly snapped to a halt, and the bear-trap opened. James forced himself to get up, ignoring the pain that jolted up his leg with each pounding step he took to get to the ravine.

He heard the snap and whip-cord ripple fill the air as the beam was dislodged. Running as fast as he could, he fired a couple of shots into a concentrated area of Scavs, scattering them. Then, he threw his rifle across the ravine.

Leaping forward, James slammed into the edge, scrabbling for purchase on the slippery edge. Fortunately, he managed to dig his fingers into the rocks and another solid part of the edge and hauled himself up. Snatching up his rifle, he continued to run, and made it to the line. Hooking himself in, he immediately set the automated recall to go.

Zipping up, he fired up a few more shots at the clusters of Scavs—

And then heard the snap of the cord, a jerk against his navel, before feeling himself plunge back down in free fall. His breath was knocked out from him as he hit the floor hard, rifle slipping from his hands…

… and falling into the ravine.

Blearily blinking the haze of pain that nearly overwhelmed him, James forced himself to get up. Scavs were all around him now, their uneven sized eyes of orange triplets menacing. The garbled words of whatever they spoke even more threatening.

The pistol in James’ hand seemed so laughable, against the overwhelming odds. Yet, he refused to give in, give up, or die. Not if he still could pull the trigger—

The cluster of Scavs to his left immediately lit up in an enormous fireball. James stared at his pistol for a second, flabbergasted, before realizing what had just happened. He hit the ground, curling up as the drone above him blasted its warning horn – before firing.

None of the Scavs knew what hit them. James heard the buzz and whine of the drone’s weapons, rapidly firing and spraying its deadly bolts all around him. The decidedly one-sided battle was over in less than a minute.

His ears rung from the noise, but didn’t last long. Slowly and cautiously, he uncurled himself and looked around. All that remained of the library were spots of fire, burning the pages of many books. Not one Scav was left – and if there were any survivors, they most likely scattered and ran away.

The deep bone-rattling buzz of the drone – 166, just his luck – sinking to eye-level in front of him as he slowly stood up, sent a thrill of fear over him. He was suddenly washed in the blue LIDAR light—

“Tech 49, James Barnes!” he shouted, horrified that the programming for recognition had not fully kicked in.

The LIDAR scan shut off a moment later, as the drone seemed satisfied that he wasn’t a threat. It didn’t even bother giving him the warning horn to stand back as it suddenly zipped to the center shaft of faint twilight streaming into the library. A second later, it blasted itself out of the sinkhole.

“What an asshole,” he couldn’t help but mutter. He didn’t quite understand why the words sounded right to say, but it gave him a sense of satisfaction – however lowly it felt.

While a part of him wished that there had been some ‘memory’ programming in the drones – especially since he had repaired and revived Drone 166 earlier in the day, he knew it was a fool’s wish. The drones had basic programming, that was all. Nothing advanced, and nothing that made them ‘remember’.

Shaking his head slightly, he gingerly made his way over to the shaft. His cord was cut, but it looked like the cables hanging from the caved in ceiling was secured enough for him to climb up.

As he took one last look around at the fiery ruins, something caught his attention. Glancing down, James couldn’t help but feel slightly curious. There was a book – unburnt, and whole, laying near his feet. It was rare that he found intact books, and this one didn’t look like the others he had collected before.

Picking it up, he gave it a cursory look before stuffing it into his back pocket.

* * *

_Elsewhere, nightfall…_

She didn’t blame them for being angry.

She didn’t blame them for wanting revenge, more than ever now.

She didn’t blame them for stealing Tech 49’s motorcycle in petty revenge; forcing Tech 49 to walk back to his Dragonfly in pain. After what happened, it gave most of them satisfaction to see him suffering from the wound rendered by the bear-trap.

What Peggy did blame them for, was not heeding her, Fury, or Black Widow’s advice on how to capture Tech 49. Properly. With little to no casualties.

Now, they had lost fifteen good women and men to a single drone, _and_ almost also lost Tech 49 in that process. Fury and Widow had not been present during the trap sprung at the ruins of the New York library; elsewhere running down her request. It had been Sitwell of SHIELD, who had laid out the plan and trap – and gotten fifteen of their best killed by Drone 166.

But they could not linger on revenge, on what they had lost. Too much had already been lost, and so much more, if they did not go forward with what Fury and Widow had confirmed.

An alliance of convenience between the SSR she led, and SHIELD whom Fury led, had culminated in this. It yielded the discovery of a long-ago, supposedly lost in space object that could save what was left of Humanity.

“You’re sure?” Peggy asked again.

A single light illuminated the table where she, along with Fury and Widow sat. A few senior squad commanders stood nearby, Clint and his dog included. Fury and Widow had returned to SHIELD’s base only a half-hour ago. It was closer than SSR’s main home, and for convenience, Peggy agreed to meet here.

“Quite,” Widow answered.

“We’ll still need Tech 49 then—” Peggy began.

“Do we really need him?” Fury questioned. “Tech 52 or 55 are a lot easier for my people to abduct.”

“We do,” Peggy insisted. “You know he’s different. If we want his full cooperation, his full trust, and to make sure that he _doesn’t_ reprogram Drone 172 to self destruct—”

“We can shoot him if he shows any signs of activating the drone’s self destruct,” Widow interrupted.

“Nat,” Clint interrupted before anyone else could escalate their protests. “Please. Give him a chance. Tech 49 is just like you—”

“No, he isn’t,” Widow vehemently interrupted, but did not say anything further.

“We still need Tech 49,” Peggy spoke up after a minute of uncomfortable silence.

She reached into a pocket, pulling out a piece of paper that was stored in a sealed plastic bag. She never thought that she would ever open the bag again; as what was contained within was a relic of a bygone era. Pushing it forward so that it rested in the center of the table under the dim light, she heard and saw the others standing around them lean forward ever so slightly.

“This,” Peggy began, but paused.

Her throat suddenly felt dry, as the memories long past briefly surfaced. She tried to push them down; not needing the distraction right now. Clearing her throat, she attempted to speak again.

“This is the procedure to recall _Odyssey_. We need a transmitter tower strong enough to blast the signal at a wide angle into space. Considering the orbit it’s in, and the signal strength needed, any sort of transmission will be detected.”

Silence answered her declaration. Then, Fury asked, “Is there no other way? No other place that we can look for a transceiver or compact core?”

Peggy shook her head.

Houston was completely buried under sediment. As was Los Angeles, Seattle, Boston… every other facility that she knew of that had built the type of transceiver, and the compact plutonium core they needed was in ruins. Either swept away by tsunami, collapsed by earthquakes, or buried like so many other cities – including the one beneath their feet. The only place left to look was in space. By chance and luck, it had been Widow who had discovered that a part of the _Odyssey_ had survived.

Sixty years, orbit slowly decaying, but intact enough that sending it a guiding beacon would cause its automated functions to activate and bring it home. To bring them the two necessary items they needed, in order to destroy the Triskelion.

And with both, hope that perhaps some of the crew still in cryo, survived.

But that was something that Peggy dared not tell Fury, Widow, or the others of SHIELD. If there were any other survivors of the fated _Odyssey_ mission, then she – the SSR – wanted to be the ones to make sure they knew the truth of what happened. To slowly integrate them back into what was left of society – of Humanity.

She would not plunge them directly into war; into becoming soldiers for the more militant of the two allied groups. She did not want any survivors to be used by Fury and SHIELD in that manner. She herself knew what it felt like to wake up in a world that no longer existed.

“My people will configure Empire State to transmit the frequency and signal,” she stated. “We’ll need distraction to get the drones away from that place.”

Fury and Widow looked at each other, silent for a few moments. “We need to test the fusion core anyways,” Fury stated, returning his attention onto her. “Have your people ready in six hours. When you see the signal, go.”

Peggy glanced at Clint, who nodded once in agreement at the amount of time they had to prepare. It was enough. She returned her attention onto Fury. “Good hunting.”

~*~*~*~


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

_He couldn't help but smile a little in relief as he closed the front door and dropped his keys off in the basket at the table. Putting his backpack down, he walked past the open-faced kitchen, but paused for a moment, glancing to his left. In the vaulted ceiling living room, he couldn’t help the grin that tugged on the edges of his lips._

_It looked like the so-called ‘million dollar’ wall had finally been put up. While the house was large enough to have both lower and upper floor offices, neither of them wanted to put the degrees, commendations, and the like they had earned in those offices. Said offices were more spare bedrooms for friends and guests, than offices anyways._

_It was a combination of pride and more of a running joke between them to display at least the degrees they both had earned in the living room. He didn’t think it would be taken up… but it looked like it was now. A million dollar wall – the combined monetary amount for the various college diplomas they both had to get this far._

_Movement out of the corner of his eyes drew his attention away. The faint smile on his lips tugged up a little further. It was quite late at night, but it looked as if ___ was getting some exercise. Working some things out that most likely was bothering him._

_He crossed the living room kicking off his socks and savoring the plush carpet beneath his bare feet for a moment. Exiting into the tall-fenced backyard, the smile remained on his lips. At least ___ had the modesty to disable the automatic lights, and only left the in-pool illumination on._

_It wouldn’t do for any neighbors – if they were up this late at night and being extremely nosy – to see that the swimmer in the pool was completely naked. Not that anyone was able to see over the ten-foot fencing and various growth of bearded palm trees that cluttered the outer perimeter of the backyard._

_Privacy was one thing that they both treasured, especially with the jobs they now had. This place, while on the expensive side – even splitting the rental cost and utilities – was at the end of a quiet cul-de-sac._

_He sat on the edge of the pool, watching ___ swim laps. ___ seemed completely oblivious to his presence, as he watched him take powerful strokes; what muscles he could see above water, rippling and glistening with the water reflecting by the in-pool lights. He saw ___ dive underwater, spin and propel himself towards the other end of their small pool._

_Over and over again. As he watched, he absently rolled up the slacks he had worn to work, his polo still damp from sweat accumulated from just walking from the office building to the parking lot, and then from the cool air-conditioned house to out here._

_Dipping his feet in, he couldn’t help but sigh contentedly for a moment. The cool water swirling around his legs was a godsend to the unbearable heat and humidity – even at this time of night. The job, the work was a dream; but the locale… not so much._

_It was the combination of a closer splash of water, along with the question of, “How did the sim go?” that caused him to open his eyes._

_He glanced down to see that ___ had stopped his swimming laps and was now perched on the side of the pool, arms bracing himself in position on the pool’s lip. “Long,” he answered. “But good. Didn’t get through as may objectives as we’d like, due to ESA having some trouble on their end.”_

“ _Controller or actual connection issues?”_

“ _Both, it seems,” he answered. “Their OSO equivalent was going through cert today. Just happened to have bad luck in net connections intermittently going down. GC and the IT folks scrambling like mad. Handled that like the pro she is though. She passed.”_

“ _Good,” ___ answered, grinning._

_The silence that fell between them was peaceful and amicable. ___ remained where he was, smiling up at him, eyes glittering from the reflection of the water. Sometimes, he’d like to imagine that those beautiful blue-green eyes also reflected the stars, but the more rational part of his mind always made that untrue. One could barely see the stars here in this city – even on the outskirts._

“ _You know you’re going to have to wear something while swimming on Saturday, ___,” he stated, breaking the silence. “Some of my friends have young children.”_

____ chuckled. “I will. And don’t forget, some of my friends have jealous partners.”_

_At that, he laughed, hearing ___’s rich laughter join in with him. “Can’t do anything about that, punk.”_

_As their laughter slowly faded into happy silence, he noticed that the look in ___’s eyes had changed ever so slightly. It was a look he was all too familiar with, and had no resistance to, drawn to it like a moth to flame. Except that it was a flame of desire—_

____ lifted himself half-way out of the water. “They can’t,” ___ said, nipping at his earlobe, sending a pleasurable thrill down his spine. “But I can.”_

_He was immediately pulled into the water by ___ tugging forward on his wrist as ___ plunged back down. His sudden exclamation didn’t even get to leave his lips as he surfaced, with ___ having let him go. ___ treaded water a meter away from him, and he couldn’t help but smile in return._

_Reaching back, he peeled his polo off, sending the water-l_ _ogged_ _clothing onto the deck. His trousers came next, with the belt as well, and finally his_ _boxer-_ _briefs. All deposited haphazardly onto the_ _deck_ _. But he didn’t care._

_Closing the distance in one powerful stroke, he caught ___ in his arms, just as ___ did as well. They slowly spun around. He wondered just what ___ had in mind, before he felt ___ shift ever so slightly in his arms._

_As one, they slowly sank underwater. ___ leaned in, kissing him slowly, gently, then pressed in deeper—_

James gasped and sat up, as the last vestiges of the dream unexpectedly fled. The weight of the water, the press of that familiarly unfamiliar man’s body against his own, the electrifying ecstasy that jolted through him… it didn’t feel like a dream.

It felt _real_.

He didn’t get to linger on the dream as the world beyond the glass, stretching towards the ocean, suddenly lit up. Brighter than anything he had ever seen – much brighter than the fusion core—

James immediately tore out of the bed, running towards the window, as his eyes widened with what he was seeing. Hurried footsteps behind told him Natasha had woken up and seen what he had seen as well.

A mushroom-like cloud, lit up like the sun, enveloped the night sky – directly where one of the hydrorigs was. The cloud reached higher than their tower, touching the stratosphere, where it then curled and flung itself over the curvature of the Earth.

Training and knowledge that James didn’t think they’d ever use kicked in. It was clear that one of the hydrorigs had suffered a catastrophic failure. To what extent, was unknown.

“Natasha, get on the horn and see how many minutes until AOS with the Triskelion,” James stated. “I’m going out.”

“On it,” she answered, running towards the stairs, as he made his way down to the armory.

James didn’t bother getting dressed in his usual uniform – he had to go out now. To survey and see what damage had been done, if possible. To try to see what he needed to cover, and how many – if there were any – drones survived.

The Tower suddenly rocked back and forth. He faintly heard the cry of alarm from Natasha, as he held out a hand to brace himself against a wall. The shock wave from the explosion had finally reached them.

It lasted about a half-minute, spilling tools and so many other things down in the workshop onto the floor. Fortunately, the tower was built robustly enough that Drone 109 did not detach from its housing unit.

As soon as the shaking stopped, James carefully picked his way around the mess, and snatched up the first weapon he saw – his pistol. Shoving it into the back of his waistband, he then hurried up to the main floor. The place was a mess as well; spilled items, utensils, cups and the like all over the place, but there was no time to pause and pick up the items.

Outside, it was chilly, and James briefly regretted not bothering to change into proper clothing. He was bare-feet and wearing only his drawstring trousers that he usually slept in. But, to pick through and try to find clothing now was to waste more time.

The Dragonfly looked intact. Climbing into the aircraft, he strapped himself in and went through the preflight checks as quickly as he could. When everything cleared, he dialed into the private comm line with Natasha and VTOL’ed away from the landing pad.

“AOS with Triskelion in thirty minutes. Storm on the horizon though. Possible choppy comm link,” Natasha stated.

As he spun the Dragonfly around to face the remnants of the hydrorig, he saw the tell-tale fork of lightning a few kilometers off in the distance. The smoke and fire from the remnants of the hydrorig was thick, and most likely still burning too hot for him to fly close to. If the storm’s rain traveled there, then there was a chance the rain could help put out some of the fire.

“Copy on AOS,” he stated. “I’ll see if I can at least tag and confirm the outer perimeter drones.”

“Copy,” Natasha stated. “Fly safe, James.”

“I will,” he answered, warmly.

He appreciated Natasha’s change of acknowledgment from her usual worried ‘be careful’. It was rare that he ever heard ‘fly safe’ from her, and it heartened him to know that even if she was a stickler for the rules, she always had his back.

Carefully guiding the Dragonfly, he watched his sensors like a hawk. Not only was he looking for IFF tags of the outer perimeter drones, he was also monitoring for signs of radiation. The sensors on the Dragonfly were calibrated to detect any hints of radiation.

With what happened to the hydrorig, if there was a radiation zone or even worse, a cloud that expanded towards them, he needed to fly back quickly and evacuate both himself and Natasha away. Protocol dictated that they would fly up to the Triskelion if that happened, but James had a back up plan in the event that they had to leave the tower.

At least he thought it was a back up plan. He didn’t know how Natasha would react, considering she had never been keen on setting foot outside of the safety of the tower.

But that was only contingency. For now, he needed to confirm what they had both witnessed, and gather as much information as possible in the next thirty minutes.

~~~

“When he said testing the fusion core, I didn’t realize it involved blowing one of those hydrorigs up,” Clint commented. “It reminds me of those stories that you told us of how New York City’s Times Square lit up during the New Year celebration. I guess that’s the signal.”

Peggy lowered the binoculars. “Yes, but with less radioactive contamination and fallout,” she bit out.

Not that the Earth was already contaminated by nuclear fallout. There seemed to be so little, for the amount of nuclear warheads that had been launched. Or so she had been told after she was woken up from cryo. She was a little worried that with the nuclear meltdown of the hydrorig relatively close to them, it would distort the signal.

But, considering that the Triskelion was interested in the resources of the Earth, Peggy could only speculate that somehow, the alien thing would ‘clean up’ any contamination. Until it sucked Earth dry of water, they were relatively safe in that aspect.

Before Clint could continue with his remarks, Peggy stated, “Move out.”

* * *

At the thirty minute mark, James heard the squeal over comm, telling him that Natasha was attempting to connect to the Triskelion. With the storm coming in sooner than anticipated, he had flown the Dragonfly further away, unable to get any good readings closer than his initial pass.

After a few minutes, Natasha’s voice returned to their private line. “Ratty comm,” she stated. “Don’t know how much they got for the data packet or my words.”

“Let’s hope this storm passes before they go out of range for the day,” he answered. “I’m returning, Natasha.”

“Copy,” Natasha answered. James heard the relief in her acknowledgment.

Guiding the Dragonfly through choppy air that preceded the storm, he landed the aircraft on the pad just as the rain started to pelt the tower. Quickly climbing out after he secured the Dragonfly to the pad, he ran towards the door, as Natasha opened it.

“Made it,” he said, grinning as the glass doors slid close.

She smiled, enveloping in a brief hug to welcome him back into the safety of their tower. She pulled back a moment later, warm hands and fingers lingering teasingly across his back, and looked around. James did as well – the living room and open kitchen was a complete mess. He already knew what the state of the workshop down below looked like.

“Guess we’re cleaning this up until the storm passes,” he said, taking a couple of steps forward to pick up a pillow from the ground.

“How about you take the workshop, I’ll get this floor squared away, hmm?” Natasha suggested, taking the pillow from him.

He nodded. With another teasing brush of her hands across his waist, she sauntered away. James watched her walk, the sway of her hips, and of the semi-sheer fabric of her nightgown clinging to her body, slightly hypnotic and arousing.

With all things considered and that had happened, James was a little relieved that it didn’t seem like she was worried about the explosion. While there was still the unknown of how it happened, there was nothing they could do until the storm cleared and they could examine the remnants further.

Natasha disappeared around the corner to the bed room, snapping him out of his staring. Shaking his head slightly, he went below and began cleaning up the place. Drone 109 was readjusted to fit more snugly in its housing, and the clutter around it cleared. James did a cursory check to make sure that nothing fell into the fusion core shaft, before going to pick up the rest of the mess.

When he was done, he climbed back up. It looked like the sun had already risen, but the storm hadn’t let up yet. Thick grey clouds hung over the tower, and sheets of rain dribbled down the glass. Natasha was at the secondary console, with their breakfast already half-way prepared on the other end of the table.

He wasn’t feeling quite hungry yet, even with all of the heavy lifting that he had been doing down stairs. Stopping next to her, James slipped an arm around her waist and pulled her close.

She lightly laughed, as she continued to swipe at the screen, and bring what looked like a radar screen to the forefront. It seemed that some data had managed to get through – enough that they got a rough image of their location and where the storm was. Given the size and timestamp of when it was sent, James did some quick mental calculations—

Natasha’s unexpected kiss on the bottom of his chin stopped him. “About an hour, before we get a clearer signal,” she whispered, then kissed him in the same spot again.

She had the same idea that he had; an hour before they had to return to their duties. An hour to spend exploring each other against the grey light of the storm, rather than the darkness of night.

He tilted his head down, and leaned forward, capturing her lips with his own. Warm, wet, tasting like the tea he knew she loved to drink. At the same time, he felt her tug his trouser drawstring loose, while shifting so that he was able to easily lift her up onto the table…

* * *

_Over an hour later…_

Peggy was no electrician, but the considering how simplistic the Empire State radio looked when compared to the fusion cores that powered the drones, they had to make this work. The storm that covered them and their movements was almost gone.

“I got it!” Clint crowed from the other end of the ruined remains.

“All right, setting beacon coordinates,” she stated. The keypad was old, crusted, but still usable. As soon as the coordinates were input, she snapped it shut, and pulled the keypad out.

“Ready?” she called out to the others on the far end.

“Ready.”

“Activate it,” she ordered.

As soon as the lever was pulled down, there was an audible confirmation of the beacon pulsing. She immediately gave the signal for the team at the level to fuse it to the mechanism. Clint was already evacuating the others – with only her and the welding pair remaining.

It took a few long minutes, but the welding pair finally finished their job. Peggy stepped back and ducked her head away as the pair welded the transmission box as best as they could. Hopefully, it would be enough to stymie Tech 49 from opening the box and cutting the beacon off.

“All right, let’s haul ass, and get the hell out of here,” she stated over comm.

“Commencing Operation Haul Ass, ma’am,” Clint quipped.

As perilous as these next few minutes were going to be for her and her team – especially when they needed to traverse the open terrain to the nearest entrance to the underground network of tunnels – she didn’t admonish him. Clint’s sense of humor kept everyone from being too overbearing or wired tight with fear and anger.

Even she knew she needed that at times. But as she and the others ran for the safety of the hills, Peggy glanced back for a moment, staring up at the spire that the Empire State Building now was. All she could hope for, was that everything they had done up to now, was worth the risk of that beacon being transmitted.

~~~

“Triskelion, Natasha, are you getting this?”

It was an incredibly strange signal that blasted through all channels of the comm lines – including the private one that he and Natasha used. It was not like the periodic humming beep of a downed drone. Even stranger, the beacon was coming from a quadrant situated in the north-western half of the habitable zone. A place where there was nothing but undulating hills of sediment.

“Yes,” Natasha confirmed. “Pierce and his team are still busy analyzing what happened to the hydrorig—”

“Then I’ll go investigate it,” he cut in. “Could be Scavs.”

“All right,” she agreed, though he heard the hesitation in her tone. “Be careful.”

He didn’t answer her, but neither did he cut off the comm, as he guided the Dragonfly towards the strange beacon. He still found it strange that as boldly confident as she had been during that hour of sex they had, she had now returned to her worrywart self.

His body still ached in some unexpected places with what they had done in that hour, but it had been an amazing thing to experience a side of her that he hadn’t thought possible. Nevertheless, as much as he wanted to prod her over comm, ask her where that woman he had seen and experienced earlier was, he didn’t.

James knew and understood that she good reason to tell him to be careful. Especially with the likelihood that Scavs had somehow gotten a beacon working. What that beacon was for and what it could possibly bring, _was_ worrying.

As the Dragonfly emerged from the last lingering batch of trailing clouds from the storm, James blinked in surprise. He didn’t expect the remnants of what looked like a tower to be in this area. For some odd reason, the shape of it looked familiar, but he couldn’t quite place where he had seen it before.

Shaking his head slightly, he said, “No sign of Scavs. Beacon is definitely coming from here though. Looks like they’re using this tower as an amplifier. Going to land and see what I can find.”

“Copy,” Natasha answered.

The ‘be careful’ wasn’t said. There was no need for her to repeat it, as he knew that she knew he would set the Dragonfly down in the best area possible so she could monitor everything external while he went inside.

Landing and drawing his rifle forward, he exited the aircraft and made his way forward. With it being as bright in the day as possible, it would be impossible for him to miss seeing Scavs. However, as he cautiously entered the building, it looked like it was not as wide or eerie as the library.

There was a central square core that seemed to support the tower pillar that rose into the sky. He walked the perimeter of what looked like a lobby – noticing a rather curious item on the ground. It was a stuffed gorilla – or what looked like a gorilla.

Curiosity got the better of him. Picking it up, he stuffed it into a pocket as best as possible, while keep his grip on his rifle’s trigger area. Nothing jumped out at him as he ended up where he entered – square perimeter check completed.

“Nothing here except for the beacon,” he declared.

“Copy,” Natasha answered, faint and more tinny. James could only guess that the beacon was interfering with their comm links.

Slinging his rifle onto his back, he approached what looked to be freshly and haphazardly welded panel. Reaching into another pocket, he drew out the tiny hammer that he usually carried with him, and stuffed the pick end into a space between the welding.

Tugging on the hammer, it took him a few minutes to yank the panel off. Inside, there were the tell tale signs of something having put wires together – stripping coverings, twisting leads, and fusing the leads together.

Worry welled up in his stomach. The Scavs were intelligent, but he didn’t think they were smart enough to do something like this.

“Looks like the Scavs have been busy,” he said, keeping his tone light so that he didn’t worry Natasha even more.

Reaching into another pocket, he pulled out the tiny tablet and wire leads that he rarely used. Most of the drones he fixed on site were usually not damaged enough to force a quick reprogram or jump start in functions. Either he replaced exhaust ports, some damaged panels, and possibly a fusion core, or they were completely destroyed.

Fiddling with the wiring, he pushed a loose sleeve back among the rat’s nest, and hooked the leads up to it. “You getting the pulse?” he asked.

“Confirm,” Natasha said, before he heard the faint scraping of her chair being moved ever so slightly to another part of the console she worked at. “Looks like an off-planet homing beacon. Drawn… to some coordinates…. Sending.”

James glanced down at the pad, seeing the coordinates. “Sector 17,” Natasha supplied. “Why would the Scavs send a homing beacon off-planet?”

“There’s nothing there,” he stated, frowning slightly. “It’s a few klicks from the edge of the radiation zone though. I’ll do a flyby of the area after I shut the beacon off. It may have summoned something.”

“All right,” she agreed. “I’ll get this data packaged up and delivered to Pierce.”

Snapping the leads off, he pocked the tablet and wires. Swapping his hammer for his multi-tool, he he snapped the welded wire in half. The noise immediately stopped.

Placing his multi-tool back in a pocket, he left, emerging out into daylight with nothing but the Dragonfly and empty landscape greeting his eyes. Getting himself settled into the Dragonfly, he took off and banked once around the remnants of the building.

Nothing jumped out, and the sensors still did not pick up any movement. Flying away, James headed towards Sector 17. Once in the area, he started high, and with each subsequent banking and turn, he dipped the Dragonfly lower and lower until he was about a hundred meters above the ground.

“Nothing here but sediment and dirt,” he stated, as he pulled the stick back to point the Dragonfly back up to a more comfortable flying altitude.

“Strange, but I’ll include it in the report,” Natasha answered.

Taking one last look around, he glanced at the time, versus where he was. Considering that Pierce had not informed them of the results of what happened to the hydrorig, all they could do now was wait.

“I’m going to do a perimeter check,” he said, banking right, skimming close enough to the edge of the beginnings of the radiation zone, but far enough away to not trigger any alarms yet.

Several kilometers away from where he currently was, was a canyon. And at the end of that canyon… a quiet place where he called his true home. His Earth home… and he loved it there – more than he loved spending time up in the tower, even if Natasha was pleasurable company.

“I might drop off comm—” he began.

“James—” Natasha’s protests began, but were immediately cut off as the Dragonfly dove into the canyon.

He knew that it annoyed her at times whenever he did that, but perhaps some time away from each other would do them some good. As satisfying as this morning’s activities had been, he knew that she easily picked up on his worry. James never was able to hide any sort of emotion he felt from her.

And with what he had seen in the ruins of that building, his own worry about how intelligent the Scavs really were, would only worry her even further. James didn’t want to burden her with more things to worry about. She already had enough, trying to help Pierce and the others onboard the Trikelion solve the hydrorig explosion.

James focused his attention back on flying through the canyon, even though he knew this place and flight path like the back of his hand. He could almost do it with his eyes closed, but refrained from doing so. Perhaps just before they left Earth – maybe when Natasha would finally agree to go with him on a flight to here, he’d tease her a little and fly parts of the route with his eyes closed.

She would probably be as amazed as he had been – and still was – by the wonders on display in the canyon that she wouldn’t notice him flying blind. It was a notion, a silly one, but one that James clung onto. He wanted her to see this place, for someone to share with him about the wonders and beauty of this place when they returned to the Triskelion.

He didn’t want to be alone in his thoughts; about the beauty and memories of Earth.

After flying for about twenty minutes through the long canyon, he finally made it to the end – to the green valley nestled and guarded by mountains. It was a beautiful area, and within it, was a half-complete cabin that he had built over the many months and years he had been here.

Landing the Dragonfly, James climbed out, breathing in the fresh air. The scent of blooming flowers was strong here, and so were the faint buzz of bees and other insects.

Striding into the half-complete cabin, he shed his rifle, along with his uniform and changed into a set of comfortable clothing. The clothing had been found during one of his trips into a similar sinkhole like the library. Untouched, dusty, but nevertheless intact.

Stretching, he placed the gorilla against a few other knickknacks he had acquired over the years. The book he picked up at the library slotted into a pocket between other books. He had briefly – and secretly – read through some of the pages last night, while repairing Drone 109.

Natasha was a stickler for the rules – enough that she didn’t like it when he brought small knickknacks to the tower. Thus, everything he found interesting or collected was brought here – to a place he called his own, and his home.

James glanced at the straw-and-grass stuffed bed. He was still tired from the pre-dawn wake up call, and the impromptu sex with Natasha at mid-morning. Then, he turned to look outside; sunny, warm, just a little on the cool side…

This place was safe from the Scavs. He never saw any signs of them intruding here, nor stealing anything from this place.

Going outside, he laid down his rifle, and knelt by the stream. The trout, whom he secretly named ‘Mr. Limpet’ was near the shore again. He didn’t know what fish ate, but Mr. Limpet looked still looked healthy.

He took it as a good sign and laid back onto the soft grass. Bringing his hands up behind his head, he closed his eyes, feeling the sun’s warmth seep into him, as a cool breeze washed over him. Soon, James was asleep…

_New York City…_

_How James missed this place, with all of its noise, strange smells, and crowds upon crowds just constantly moving. It had been a long time since he had last visited – even longer than when he last lived here._

_Familiar sights, familiar buildings, some changed for the better or for worse, but nevertheless, staying mostly the same from what he remembered. But as he slowed down in front of the grand old Empire State, the edges of his lips quirked up in a fond smile._

_It seemed he was not the only one to have missed the city. James saw him look around, taking in the grand concrete landscape, remembering similar details, sights, sounds… everything. And was looking for him as well…_

_And for that one instant, the crowds between them parted. That one instant where James had a clear view of him, standing tall, handsome as always, and with the familiarly fond expression upon his face—_

— _and found him within the crowds._

_Those gentle blue-green eyes of his held James there for a moment, and he smiled…_

James sleepily shifted ever so slightly, wanting to wake whenever he reached this part of the dream. Yet, unlike before, he was strangely unable to bring himself to open tired eyes, and an even more exhausted mind. The sound of the trickling stream quickly sent him back into the river of dreams…

… _and woke up to the faint scratching noise of pencil on paper. Blinking sleepiness from his eyes, he looked up and over to see ___ sitting a_ _gainst the headboard of their bed_ _. ___ was madly scratching away on the paper in his lap desk with a pencil. It was not a common thing ___ did, but he had been woken up once before by it. Back then, ___ had been struck by inspiration and had to sketch the image out._

“ _Working on another piece for the Artists in Space series you’ll be hosting while up there?” he asked, clearing the sleepiness from his voice._

“ _No,” ___ apologized. “Sorry if I woke you.”_

“ _S’okay,” he said. “Where’s the fire?”_

_He shifted to lay on his side, watching ___ continue to sketch whatever he was sketching on that lap desk of his. From where he laid, the desk was held close enough that he couldn’t tell what was being sketched._

“ _Nowhere.” The dazzling smile that shone down on him seemed brighter than the early dawn sunlight that streamed through their windows. “Want to see it?”_

“ _Sure.”_

_The desk and paper were turned towards him. He couldn’t help but snort lightly in laughter – both in embarrassment, and puzzlement. It was a sketch of him, shoulders on up, asleep. There was a more peaceful look on his own face than he had ever seen on anyone else. He didn’t think he was capable of such an expression… but ___ had captured it._

____ turned the unfinished drawing back to himself. “I could have taken a photograph and be done with it,” ___ quietly admitted, smiling down at the sketch. “But it didn’t feel right, capturing the moment in a photograph. Bringing it up there as a part of my personal belongings. It didn’t feel… personal.”_

____ glanced over. “You know what I mean?”_

_Warmth flooded him as he listened. It was not the same kind of warmth that drove his desire for ___. It was similar, but it was also something that came from the core of himself, his heart – his soul._

“ _Will I have a_ _self-portrait of you_ _when it’s my turn to smuggle a sketch up there in my coverall pockets?” he asked._

_At that, ___ smiled – sun bright and full of love. “Yes. And when you sleep, all I ask is that you dream of us at night—”_

“— _and in day, remember us as memories,” he softly finished. He leaned over, and kissed him—_

James snapped his eyes open, just as a chest-rumbling, deep boom shattered across the skies. Even with the lingering vestiges of the strange dream, and ghostly feeling of that man’s lips brushing against his own, horror was quickly overtaking him.

A streak of fire burned across the clear blue skies.

The Scavs _had_ summoned something, and that something was crashing into Earth. Scrambling up, he dashed towards the house and quickly changed into his uniform. Slinging his rifle onto his back, he sprinted towards the Dragonfly, jumped in, and skipped the preflight checks.

Streaking up into the air, he followed the trail of smoke and fire, before hearing the boom of whatever the hell it was, crash in the distance. His HUD showed the rough coordinates, and he narrowed his eyes ever so slightly. They were close to the coordinates that he had picked up in the initial transmission.

Keying the comm, he said, “Natasha, I have eyes on whatever the hell that thing is. I’m about twenty minutes away from where it crashed. Sector 17.”

“Negative on approach,” Natasha crisply ordered. “Triskelion is minutes away from LOS. They’ve already deployed Drones to take care of the situation. Return home, James.”

To obey the order was the best course of action. Without the oversight of the Triskelion augmenting Natasha, he knew that if he encountered Scavs at the crash sight, there was a good possibility that he would be killed.

“Negative on that,” he stated instead. “With the Triskelion LOS, we need eyes on this. I want to know that the site is secured.”

Curiosity tugged at him. He wanted to see what the Scavs had risked a transmission for, knowing that it would be picked up by them. If it was a weapon, all the more to keep it out of the Scavs’ hands. All the more to save it from destruction by the indiscriminate drones.

James heard Natasha’s frustrated noise over comm, before he heard a squeal that indicated the channels were linked. “Pierce,” she stated over the linked channel, “My Tech is concerned about the security of the site.”

“Tower, you have lost enough assets for today,” Pierce answered. “Keep your tech out of there. Do you copy?”

“Copy, sir—” Natasha began, but then fell silent as a fizzling noise echoed over the comm. Pierce and the Triskelion had entered LOS. “James, you heard Pierce—”

“I’ll be at the site in twenty,” he declared, and pushed the throttle forward.

~~~

Horses certainly didn’t exist anymore, and what vehicles they had were rarely used. Gasoline certainly could not be produced anymore, and thus was saved to power the generators more than to fill the vehicles that carried them. But for this Peggy was willing to expend gasoline.

They didn’t have a lot of time – not with the spectacularly fiery entrance that the _Odyssey_ had taken across the atmosphere. Drones or the aircraft that Tech 49 flew would be here within minutes.

Thick black smoke, along with the fiery landscape of burnt debris littered the area, as Peggy and her team scrambled out of the vehicles. She quickly directed teams of two towards clusters of debris, hoping that one of those clusters contained the transceiver and compact core they were looking for.

She herself, along with Clint and Black Widow – on loan for this mission from Fury – hurried to the largest of the debris, the central core. It was now a mangled mess of what used to be cylindrical in shape. Gingerly climbing into the structure, she waved her hand around, trying to clear the air of smoke. The acrid smell was getting to her—

“Peggy! We’ve found a pod!”

Peggy spun from where she was, and saw one of the teams on the far side of the debris zone waving a flashlight. Touching her ear, she said, “Name on the pod?”

“S. Stan.”

Silvia Stan, the ESA astronaut selected for the mission. Peggy barely remembered the details about the crew, but she did faintly remember that Stan was the bio-chemical specialist.

“Another one here!” another team called out. “K. Ishioka.”

Kenji Ishioka, Peggy’s memories supplied. The jack-of-all-trades, JAXA astronaut selected for the mission, if memory served her correctly.

“S. Rogers,” Clint quietly spoke over comm. Peggy turned to see him and Widow standing at the other end of the mangled central cylinder. Both had their flashlights pointing down at the cryo pod.

“Steve,” she couldn’t help but whisper, her chest tightening into a knot for a brief moment.

“Incoming!” the warning blasted across the comm, causing Peggy to wince slightly.

“Go!” she ordered. “Take cover!” As much as she didn’t want to say it, she knew she had to. “Leave the pods!”

Without hesitation, her people obeyed her orders. She hurried after them, with Clint and Widow staying by her side. Taking one last glance at the ruined structure where Steve laid in cryo sleep, the knot in her chest seemed to twist just a little tighter.

They could not leave the area yet – not even with whatever the Trikelion was sending forth. No one had reported finding the transceiver or the compact core yet. And if worse came to worse, she would have to order her people to attack the drones if the heartless machines found what they – Humanity – needed.

~~~

“Natasha, I think this is one of ours… it looks ancient. Possibly pre-war,” James stated, as he flew into the site.

“The Scavs brought this thing down, James,” Natasha implored.

It was a fiery mess, but not as ruinous-looking as the hydrorig. Most of what looked like the central structure that fell was still intact. But, considering the thick black smoke, along with just how wide of an area the debris field was, James was incredibly wary of any Scavs suddenly jumping out; yet none did.

“There’s no sign of Scavs,” he answered. It was slightly premature, but he didn’t care.

“Technician, this is your Mission Control. I am ordering you to pull out and return to the tower immediately,” Natasha ordered.

James continued to fly around. His sensors still didn’t pick up anything moving. Neither did a few more visual flyby of the area yield any movement.

“Touching down,” he declared. Landing the Dragonfly, he slung off his rifle first, and gingerly pushed the door to the Dragonfly open.

Carefully stepping out, he flicked the flashlight on and panned the rifle this way and that. Creeping forward, he approached the first object that was in his path – a rectangular-like box that was slightly larger and taller than his height. There seemed to be a window of sorts to peer into the box, and it was labeled on the front.

[K. Ishioka]

James paused. He blinked a few times, wondering why the name seemed so familiar, yet not. But that moment passed as he closed the distance and peered into the window—

“Shit, Natasha! There’s a person – a human – in this pod!”

Her faint gasp, and then silence over the comm was palpable. James glanced down onto the right side, seeing what looked like vitals being displayed. “He’s still alive.”

James glanced up, faintly seeing at least four more pods scattered in the field. He hurried to another, read the name, and checked the vitals. Y. Belova, was the name of the woman in the pod – alive as well. From what he could tell, the vitals being displayed on the side looked fairly well, though had a more yellow tinge in color than the green that was on Ishioka’s pod.

“Y. Belova,” he stated over the comm. “Human. She’s alive as well. Going to check to see if there’s anything in the central core.”

Heading into the ruins of the central core, he panned his rifle and flashlight around, and saw another pod at the other end. Carefully making his way to the other end, James glanced at the name, and frowned.

[S. Rogers]

He took a couple of more steps forward, looked into the window of the pod—

… _golden hair like wheat fields…_

… _warm, rich and delightful laughter…_

… _blue-green eyes reflecting the crystal clear oceans…_

… _that smile of his, a mirror of the rising sun…_

It wasn’t so much the buzzing horn that issued from the drones with their arrival, but the thick noisy sound they created. James tore his eyes away from the pod and the flash of dreams… or was it truly memories… that flitted across his eyes. He made his way towards the other end in time to see Drone 166 pan its LIDAR against Ishioka’s pod—

—then suddenly blast it with a burst of super-heated energy from its gun ports.

“No!” he cried. “Stop! Natasha, the drones are firing on the survivors!”

Rumbling loud tones of acknowledgment not for his shouted orders, but for other scans from the other drones filled the air. One after the other, James watched in complete horror as the other drones fired upon the pods.

“James, the Triskelion is offline – I don’t have control!” Natasha cried.

“Stop!” he shouted, desperate.

166 suddenly charged forward, headed towards the central core’s other cracked opening. James scrambled to the other side, and positioned himself in front of the pod. “Back off, you son of a bitch!” he growled, pointing his rifle at the drone.

He could see the eyepiece focusing in and out, as the buzz it generated seemed louder than anything he had heard from the drones before. 166 crept forward, bobbing and weaving ever so slightly.

“I said: Back! Off!” he repeated.

For good measure, he fired a burst of bullets at it. Ignoring the terrified gasp from Natasha through the comm, he continued to hold his ground, planting himself between the pod and the drone. It was not because of the strange dreams he kept having; about the man with golden hair, blue-green eyes, and a smile that made it seem like a beautiful dawn had risen.

He refused to let another human – a survivor, die.

Seconds turned into minutes as the crackling fire and the low buzz of Drone 166 continued to surround him. He couldn’t hear the other drones – their work in killing the survivors in the pods done. But those long minutes that stretched between him and 166 abruptly ended.

The blasting horn of the drone was all he received, before seeing the machine retract into the spherical pod shape. Not a second later, it blasted off into the sky. James remained where he was for another few seconds, eyes scanning the smoke-covered skies.

When it looked like Drone 166 and its compatriots were not going to return, he lowered his rifle. Slinging it onto his back, it was a new descending tone that drew his attention down towards the pod.

The vitals on Rogers’ pod were failing.

~*~*~*~


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Peggy placed a hand on the rifle that Natasha had pointed and tracked Tech 49 with. It wouldn’t do anything for them to shoot Tech 49 – not with the drones so close, and the Dragonfly’s cameras watching the perimeter.

The grisly, appalling scene of the drones blasting the cryo pods had caused more than a few of her people to vomit within their protective helmets. Yet, they still had not taken them off. The fear of the drones discovering them just meters away and within the mounds of dirt pushed up by the crash, was greater than anything else.

Peggy continued to watch as Tech 49 pulled and secured the lone surviving cryo pod onto his aircraft. If there was one person that she had wished above all else to have survived, she was glad that it had been Steve.

Dialing the frequency to the one she knew Fury would be monitoring, she watched as the Dragonfly took off into the smoke-filled skies. Only time would tell, if her hopes and wishes placed on Steve would finally come true.

She tapped the earpiece several times. After three seconds, she received the same pattern in return. “Foxtrot, this is Charlie, over,” she stated.

“Foxtrot copies, over,” Fury’s voice crackled through.

“Site secured, break. Beginning search and retrieval for Objects Alpha and Bravo, over.”

“Copy,” Fury stated. “Good hunting. Over and out.”

~~~

“Natasha! Open the door!”

Natasha hesitated. James read fear, uncertainty, and horror in her eyes, staring at the pod. “Natasha!” he shouted.

She immediately pressed the button on the glass panel. The door slid open, and James dragged the pod in. Natasha took another step back, staring at both him and the pod.

The descending tone indicating pod criticality continued to drone at both them, as he set the pod down. He immediately crouched and pulled the lever in the middle of the pod.

A hiss escaped the pod as it slowly opened, revealing the man who looked so familiar, yet not, and who haunted his strange dreams. The man was wearing mesh-like clothing, with thickened areas to cover his modesty—

“Get the med kit.”

James reached out towards the man— “Get the med kit!”

Natasha’s hard tone and order startled him. He immediately obeyed that order and scrambled up. Running to the bathroom, he grabbed the kit from the wall and hurried back. Natasha was kneeling down by the other side of the pod. James placed the kit next to her – she had more training than he did in medical matters.

“This has to be reported,” she said, glancing up at him across the pod.

“Be sure to put in the report that the drones killed the crew from one of our own ships,” he stated in a hard tone. “See what Pierce makes of that.”

Natasha stared at him, expression unreadable—

The sudden gasp coming from the man, along with his equally startling motion of sitting up, caused both of them to take a crouching step back. James saw the man cough several times, spitting something out. Alarmed, he shuffled closer—

“It’s breathing fluid. Just let him get it out,” Natasha said. She made no attempt to get any closer to the man.

Concerned, James reached forward again as the man continued to cough, sounding ragged. But before he could try to help the man or even pat him on the back, the man gasped again, and tumbled backwards. James caught him in his arms, before the man could hit the sidewall of the pod.

“Bucky?” the man whispered faintly, before he suddenly went limp in James’ arms.

James gently lowered the man back into the pod, confused. He glanced up at Natasha, who had the strangest of looks on her face; lips thinned and turned down, eyes narrowed ever so slightly and pinned directly on the man.

_Who the hell was Bucky?_

* * *

It wasn’t so much the sterile smell that greeted him as he rose from the darkness, but the lack of it. That and the small bout of shivers that briefly enveloped him. It was apparently colder than he had expected—

“Here,” a familiar voice said in response. “You’re still dehydrated.” Familiar to his ears, but not the tone in which the one word was stated – neutral, kind of chilly.

Steve blinked several times; it was like scraping sandpaper over his eyes. The world beyond was a blur of grey and white, slowly resolving to what looked like a smooth ceiling of grey. He felt a thin, bony hand reach across his back and help him up slightly.

Something wet touched his lips – water. He responded almost automatically, drinking it greedily. It slid down his throat a little too fast though, and he coughed. The cup was pulled away, and placed to the side. The bony hand slid from his back, as he heard someone further away shift ever so slightly.

Steve coughed a couple of more times as his vision began to become sharper until he saw that he was not wearing the mesh-like cryo suit anymore. What looked like scrubs, grey in color, covered him.

He was laying on a rather uncomfortable chair-like apparatus. To his left was an unfamiliar counter top, with a few first-aid items laid out. To his right—Natasha. Except that the expression that Natasha wore seemed wholly unfamiliar, distant, and somewhat unfriendly.

“Where are we?” he asked, whispering his question. His throat still burned a little from choking a little on the water – and the breathing fluid he had accumulated from his sleep.

“I’m Natasha,” Natasha stated, tone somewhat gentle, but with none of the sympathetic understanding behind it. Steve frowned ever so slightly— “and this is James,” Natasha continued.

_Bucky…?_

If the confusion that had settled within Steve could swirl any tighter, it tried to. He saw Bucky emerge from the shadows of wherever he was – the not quite infirmary. There was a neutral look on Bucky’s face, as he stopped near the foot of the pallet. Even stranger – absolutely no recognition of him in those oceanic grey-blue eyes of Steve’s best friend.

“What’s your name?” Natasha continued.

Steve tore his eyes away from Bucky, feeling a small knot of hurt well up in his chest. He had to keep calm, to not let his panic show too much, even if his confusion was clearly evident. Something had happened – something that caused Natasha and Bucky to _not_ recognize or remember him.

“I’m Steve,” he answered.

Natasha inclined her head ever so slightly. “Steve… I’m sorry for what I have to tell you, but you were in a crash. Your ship came down. James managed to pull you from the wreckage, but none of your crew survived.”

_What…_

Steve glanced back and forth between Bucky and Natasha. He was sorely puzzled as to why neither the two remembered that they had been— “What do you mean?” he demanded.

He needed to stop making assumptions. Something had truly happened, and the more he stared at the two, the more unease was building within him. It slowly overtook the knot in his chest along with his confusion.

“You’re the only one that made it. I’m sorry.”

At once, either he was still hilariously delirious under some kind of strange drug, or otherwise, a rather absurd thought crossed Steve’s mind. Perhaps Bucky and Natasha had been replaced by robots? He wouldn’t have put it over the brilliant prime federal contractor NASA usually fed their projects to – Stark Industries. Specifically, Tony Stark, to have attempted to build robotic replacements of them.

With that absurd thought lodged in his mind, Steve tried to get up to at least poke Bucky to see if his best friend was human. But found that he couldn’t.

A sudden cascade of pins and needles, along with feeling of utter jelly all over his body, betrayed him. Steve flopped back down onto the chair pallet, feeling incredibly weak.

“You’ve been in delta sleep for a long time. Some disorientation is normal.”

Steve blinked, staring at Natasha. Considering just how raw his throat felt, and the dehydration he still felt… “How long?” he asked.

“Sixty years,” Bucky spoke. “At least.”

The first words he heard from his best friend – his everything – and they were not words he expected. There was sympathy in that tone of his, but still no recognition. Even as briefly as Steve stared at Bucky, he knew that his thoughts about Stark replacing Bucky and Natasha with robots was not true. Bucky as he stood before him, was who he was.

Steve knew that much was true; that even if sixty years had passed, any sort of genetic pass down from father to son or daughter, would never truly produce a descendant with the exact match in eyes, hair, skin, even voice. Sixty years, and this Bucky who stood before him… was Bucky.

He knew Bucky – intimately – even if it was clear that Bucky did not recognize him at all.

But Natasha… Steve barely recognized her personality-wise. They had never gotten along, especially after that certain incident between himself, Bucky, and her. Yet, before this, he remembered that they had repaired enough of their relationship to begin a cordial professional relationship anew.

This Natasha who stood next to him, aloof with the barest of sympathy expressed on her face, and none in her tone… he didn’t know at all. If he had to guess, it felt as if she were treating him with some disdain; as if he were an unwanted stray that Bucky had apparently brought home.

The thought was a little unsettling, even among the unease continuing to well up within him.

But here these two were. With no memories. No idea that they _had_ been a part of the crew… what _had_ happened?

Determination to right things so strangely wrong swept through Steve. “I have to get back to our ship—” he began, trying to make his weak body and atrophied muscles work.

He ended up crashing against the left wall. He tried to use the anger from his body betraying him to move, but Natasha was a little too strong for him to resist. With one hand braced against his right shoulder, she pushed him back against the chair pallet – and held him there.

And Bucky still did not move from where he was standing.

Steve glanced away, anger and frustration filling him.

Even when Natasha said, “It’s too dangerous. Rest here.” Steve did not acknowledge the order. Natasha stepped away and returned after a few seconds—

“Natasha…”

Bucky’s warning caused Steve to momentarily snap out of the fog of his misery. He immediately grabbed Natasha’s wrist before she could plunge whatever the hell was in that hypodermic needle into him. “Don’t touch me.”

Natasha winced ever so slightly at just how much pressure Steve had placed on her wrist in his grip. But that monetary surge in strength fled. Steve let go. Natasha stepped back, placing that needle and its contents down on the counter.

“Natasha,” Bucky began. “Maybe… I think Steve might be strong enough to at least try to eat something small… liquid? Soup-like? Do we have anything like that?”

Natasha didn’t answer for a few long seconds. “No food in the infirmary,” she stated, turning and taking a few steps away before pausing. “Dinner will be ready in twenty. I’ll see what we have for broth.”

“Thank you, Natasha.”

Bucky’s grateful, relieved tone tugged at Steve. It caused the knot around his heart to tighten some more. That tone… the way it was said… Steve _remembered_ that Bucky used it in private, whenever the two of them were alone. Whispering it in his ears like a vocal caress that matched his physical actions. Never with anyone else, even when that incident involving Natasha had metaphorically blown up.

To hear it now, used _with_ Natasha… it hurt; more than Steve could find the words to describe.

“Here,” Bucky said, drawing Steve’s attention back onto him.

He looked up to see that there was a stool set down in front of him. Glancing up, Bucky was standing a half step away from the stool. “Let me help you, Steve?” Bucky asked, slightly hesitant, but trying to put a friendly, calm tone forward.

Steve almost wanted to break down right there. Not cry, but scream at the world for doing such a thing to Bucky – even to Natasha. Yet, he didn’t. After what Natasha had tried to do with the needle, he supposed that both of them – with no memories of him or anyone else at all – would be wary.

“I’ll be fine.” Steve stubbornly swung himself to the side, trying to force his muscles to obey him again. He didn’t know how long it took, but he had to guess around ten minutes to get most of the pins and needles out of his legs.

Knobbly kneed, he stood up, using the stool as a brace. All the while, he could feel and see Bucky hovering on his right, centimeters away. Ready to catch him if he fell. Steve was determined not to fall. Sixty years – it didn’t matter if that was true or not, something was terribly wrong with Bucky and Natasha.

To find out what, he knew he needed to get his strength back – to at least eat something. Before he could determine his next steps; to find out what really happened.

It was another five minutes of just swaying against the stool, before Steve felt himself regain just enough balance to take a single step forward. He looked up to see that the infirmary was not quite one, and that beyond that – the home that he was in, was brightened a little.

There was an open kitchen meters ahead of him, and the dining table adjacent to it. A rainstorm was lashing gently against the all-glass windows that surrounded this place, and the open living room was darkened. Natasha was at the kitchen, arranging something strange on trays. Steve saw a small bag of sorts next to a glass bowl – possibly soup or simple broth.

His stomach agreed with the assessment. Seemingly bolstered by just the thought of getting some sort of food into himself, Steve took another step forward. Then, he slowly let go of the stool.

Keeping his balance, Steve slowly took one step after the other, working out the rest of the pins and needles traveling up and down his back and arms as he slowly made his way out of the infirmary area. The quiet footsteps of Bucky by his right told him that his best friend was ever there in his shadow, watching over him.

It both heartened and grieved him; that Bucky was here… but did not remember.

By the time Steve finally made it to the table, he was walking somewhat normally under his own power. The food that Natasha had prepared for herself and Bucky looked strange. Cubed items that looked sort of like the dehydrated meals packed for the long voyage through space… and gelatinous rectangular… food…

If there was something that Steve found that he was grateful for, was that at least the broth he was given looked like chicken broth. It even tasted like chicken broth, as the three of them quietly ate for the next few minutes.

“Your ship’s re-entry was triggered by a beacon from the surface,” Bucky broke the silence.

Steve glanced up for a moment; Bucky hadn’t eaten much, and Natasha looked to have barely touched her meal. He could hear some resignation in Bucky’s tone, as if his friend did not want to play mediator between Natasha’s strange behavior, and him, Steve.

“Do you know anything about that?” Bucky asked.

Steve heard the hopefulness in his tone. But he didn’t know what Bucky was talking about. Sixty years, and someone had summoned what was left of the _Odyssey_ home? The automated system was supposed to have guided them home – and if that failed…

“What was your mission?” Bucky continued to ask.

“It’s classified,” Steve answered. Until he found out what happened, until he got to the bottom of why exactly neither Natasha or Bucky remembered him or anything else – even if sixty years had passed, there was nothing he could say.

“Well,” Natasha huffed. Steve glanced over at her, plainly seeing the irritation written all over her face and actions. “We have no record of the _Odyssey_ —”

“I can’t tell you anything until I get the flight recorder from my ship,” Steve interrupted. Natasha had said ‘we’, and it was then that Steve realized that the ‘we’ applied not just to herself and Bucky. There were others.

“Steve, a lot has changed in sixty years,” Natasha peevishly said.

Steve frowned.

He heard Bucky quietly sigh, slightly exasperated. “While you were in delta sleep, Earth was attacked.”

Alarm jolted through Steve as he flicked his eyes towards Bucky. “We call them Scavs,” Bucky continued. “They destroyed our moon and with that, half the planet. Then, they invaded. We won the war, but Earth was ruined. Everyone’s on Mars now. Or on the space station, the Triskelion, getting ready to go.”

Steve stared, shocked. Apart from the few times he remembered Bucky getting in trouble when they had been children for telling small white lies, he knew Bucky did not lie. At least not to him.

How could they not _know_ that the Triskelion was—

Steve halted his thoughts. Sixty years. A war against invaders. Everyone that he knew dead from either the war or the seismic upheaval caused by the lack of a moon. And now, the Triskelion. It was a lot to take in, yet… it still didn’t explain Bucky or Natasha—

It was Bucky’s fond look over to Natasha that shook Steve out of his thoughts. “We’re here for security and drone maintenance,” Bucky explained, but Steve barely heard it. “We’re the mop-up crew.”

That tight knot squeezing his heart suddenly lessened, shattering into pieces as he saw Natasha slip her right hand into Bucky’s left, resting on the table. The small squeeze she gave Bucky’s hand felt like a crush blow to Steve. Of the incident that involved the three, it hadn’t even gone as far as this – the implications behind that simple affectionate action quite clear to Steve.

What _had_ really happened?

The unbidden and unexpected bitter chuckle that escaped Steve’s lips startled him as much as it surprised the other two. But once begun, it was difficult to stop. Sixty years… he had been frozen in time for sixty years, only to wake up to a nightmare—

“You’ve lost people,” Natasha’s attempt at being sympathetic cut into his laughter, silencing him. Steve held her eyes against his own. “Everything. If you want to be alone, we understand.”

It wasn’t a dismissal, but it wasn’t a welcome either. Steve slowly got up, his appetite gone, and slowly walked back to the pseudo-infirmary. So much for his plans to figure out a forward path from this nightmare.

* * *

James had wanted to wake Steve up – to urge him to sleep in the more comfortable living room, but ended up not doing so. He could clearly see the misery and exhaustion etched on that familiarly unfamiliar handsome face.

Leaving Steve where he was – lying on the medical pallet, curled and asleep – James had gone to retrieve a spare blanket. There was not much he could do for a spare pillow, but he had brought the fluffiest towel he could find with him.

He had draped the blanket over Steve, and gently tucked the towel under his head. Steve hadn’t stirred, and James had felt a pang of sadness roll through him. Steve had lost so much, and was most likely deep asleep. Yet, the action of tucking Steve into bed seemed as familiar as his strange dreams – as if he himself had actually performed the same actions before… long ago.

But it was Natasha appearing out of the corner of his eyes that had caused him to shake himself out of the reverie. Annoyance had been clearly displayed on her face. He knew that she did not like the fact that there was a stranger – possibly contaminated with who knew what – in their home.

She thought he had put both of them at risk to be unable to join what was left of Humanity on the station or on Mars. They had a job, and he had put them – and possibly the entire mission – at risk. Yet, there was no where else they could send or bring Steve to.

He had tried to ignore her, and had gone down to the workshop.

She followed, and now, she was standing near him, watching him try to fix what little he could on Drone 109. After a few minutes, he placed his tools down. Perhaps if he tried one last time to appeal to her the glimpses of sympathy he had seen—

“The drones killed his entire crew,” he stated. “If I hadn’t gotten there…”

“I want him gone, first thing,” she ordered, coldly.

James remained silent. Her footsteps echoed briefly on the floor. “Natasha,” he began.

He turned slightly from where he was sitting by the drone. She paused at the stairs. There was a fairly chilly look in her eyes – expectant of him to obey his orders. She was the Comm Officer, technically in charge of the mission.

He took a deep mental breath. “Do you have any memories before the mission? Before the security wipe five years ago?”

“Our job is to not remember,” she stated. “Remember?”

“Do you remember him?” he pressed.

She remained silent for a few long seconds. James thought he saw some hesitation in her eyes—

“James,” she said. “That was a Scav beacon that brought him down. We don’t know who he is. Or what he is. Let’s just get through the night. Okay?”

~~~

Steve heard the footsteps of Natasha slowly climb the stairs. He hurried back to the infirmary as fast as his still slightly rubbery legs would carry him. He reached the chair-like pallet and climbed onto it, managing to throw the blanket over himself and close his eyes, when Natasha emerged onto the main floor.

Natasha’s footsteps approached, and Steve remained still, trying to even his breathing. He heard her stop, but did not open his eyes. A few seconds later, she left.

Steve heard some other noise on the other side of the wall – the apparent bedroom area. It sounded like she was changing into night clothes and getting ready to go to sleep. Considering the faint outline of just how large the bed was, and the distinct lumps of two pillows he had seen, it was likely that Bucky would also be getting ready for bed soon.

As much of a painful stab in the heart as that was – knowing implicitly that Bucky and Natasha shared a bed – Steve still did not move. Waiting until the two were asleep would be for the best, as then, he would be able to move somewhat freely.

He heard Natasha slip into the bed and tug the covers over herself. There were some more shifting noises, but soon, Steve heard her breaths even out.

After a half-hour of listening and laying on the chair-like pallet, Steve found it strange that he didn’t hear any sort of overt noise of footsteps coming up the stairs from below. The faint tinking and hammering noise, along with faint whirs of some kind of machine kept going. There was nothing that indicated Bucky was done with whatever he was doing down there.

Just as he cracked open his eyes though, his thoughts were just a little premature. Bucky’s calm, even footsteps on the stairs were just a little heavier than Natasha’s irritated ones. Steve immediately shut his eyes.

He heard Bucky approach the infirmary, much like Natasha did, except that Bucky stopped next to him. Steve kept his breathing as even as possible, tried to keep the heartache and confusion he felt from overwhelming him.

Then, his blanket was partially lifted and tugged up. He felt Bucky tuck the blanket around him a little more snugly, before stepping back. Steve wanted to open his eyes right then and there, but he could not bring himself to do so.

“I know you,” he heard Bucky softly say. “But we’ve never met. I’m with you when I dream of Earth, before the war. Of New York City and its people passing us, but I don’t… I didn’t know your name. I know I’m dreaming, but it feels more than that. It feels like a memory. How can that be?”

Steve snapped his eyes open.

But, Bucky was no longer standing next to him. He caught a fleeting glimpse of his best friend, his everything, and the one he had promised to keep in his heart forever, descending the stairs to the floor below.

_Bucky…_

* * *

_Elsewhere…_

“Foxtrot, this is Widow, over. Foxtrot, how do you read, over.”

Peggy hadn’t meant to fall asleep near the communications area. But she was glad she was not the only one who had fallen asleep and was startled awake. Widow’s sudden crackle and voice over the comm was unexpected.

As she lifted her head up, the young radio operator who had been in charge of monitoring communications within SHIELD dashed out. Peggy dared not touch Fury’s equipment. It was already enough that the two groups – SSR and SHIELD – were working closely together, she’d rather still have some semblance of separate command for each group.

“Foxtrot, this is Wi—” Widow’s voice crackled over the radio again.

Nicholas Fury swept in, and picked up the speaker piece, pushing the button. “Foxtrot reading clear, over,” he stated.

“Confirm survivor name is Steve Rogers, over,” Widow stated.

Peggy felt Fury’s inquisitive eyes upon her for a brief moment, before returning his attention onto the brief report. “Copy, over.”

“Rogers wants to retrieve the ship’s record, break,” Fury’s best agent stated. “Tell Charlie that she was right, break. It looks like Tech 49 will most likely bring Rogers back to the site for retrieval in the morning, over.”

Peggy’s eyes slid over to the three objects she and the SSR had retrieved after the drones, along with Tech 49, had left. It had been horrific to watch the drones kill the survivors without mercy. Even more frightening to watch Tech 49 drive Drone 166 off – protecting Steve’s cryo pod.

She was certain that prior to Steve’s revival, Tech 49 had no memories, but the defensive action Tech 49 had taken against Drone 166 heartened her. It helped solidified some of the detractors within the SSR as well – that Tech 49 was _different_. It also helped convince Black Widow to stay her finger on the trigger that she had had pointed directly at Tech 49 in the aftermath.

Now, Black Widow was out there, at the base of Tower 49, monitoring what was happening. The news was both good and bad. Peggy didn’t know if seeing Steve had shaken Tech 49’s memories or not. But, it seemed that Steve had gotten through to at least appeal to the humanity within Tech 49 – the compassion she knew was buried somewhere within him.

“Acknowledged, break,” Fury stated. “Monitor and confirm when the Dragonfly leaves, over.”

“Wilco, over and out,” Widow stated.

Fury placed the radio piece down. Peggy nodded once, and reached over to take the _Odyssey_ 's flight recorder into her hands. She, along with Fury, and a select group of people in the senior leadership had listened to it.

It had taken all of Peggy’s courage, and then some more to not break down crying at what she had heard from the recording. The fate of the _Odyssey_ , the fate of Humanity, and the fate of not just Steve, but of all the others on that mission, had been cruelly shattered.

Silently, she handed it to him, acknowledging the unasked question of whether or not they still needed Tech 49. Her answer hadn’t changed. She just hoped that if Fury and his people did capture Tech 49, they did so in a manner that would not harm either Tech 49 or Steve.

* * *

_Tower 49…_

It wasn’t even fully dawn yet, when James finally decided to emerge from the workshop. It hadn’t been his intention to stay down there the entire night. Yet, for the brief moment he had went up stairs and tucked the blanket around Steve last night, a sense of revulsion had swept through him when he glanced at the bed he shared with Natasha.

He hadn’t been able to bring himself to sleep in that bed, and thus, stayed below. It hadn’t been comfortable – but he had made sleeping on the floor of the workshop work.

And for the first time since he could remember, James had slept, dreamless.

But dawn was soon arriving, and with it, the alarm that would wake Natasha up. Shortly after that, the Triskelion and Pierce would contact them for the day’s activities. And Natasha… she would have to report what happened.

He wasn’t so much surprised as he almost expected it; Steve was already awake. He was dressed in coveralls that looked somewhat familiar – not because it marked the _Odyssey_ , but something that seemed like a dream… or memory.

Steve had folded his arms around himself, seemingly keeping some strange chill at bay as James approached. “You fly that thing?” Steve softly asked, as James stopped next to him.

“Yes,” he answered, briefly looking at the Dragonfly.

Clouds covered the lower altitudes, but it looked like the night’s rainstorm was well past. The barest hints of a beautiful dawn were already making itself known.

“What… what happens now?”

James heard worry in Steve’s tone, hesitation, and concern. He didn’t know the man, but he didn’t understand why hearing such a tone from Steve was strange. As if he expected Steve to be confident – not hesitant.

But he couldn’t blame Steve for that unease. The man was, after all, a stranger in a strange world. Displaced sixty years, and overwhelmed with what had happened to the world he had known – had left, and now returned to.

“The Triskelion will be online soon. Natasha will report your rescue. They’ll send someone down for you,” he answered, hoping it was enough to assuage Steve’s worry.

“From the Triskelion?”

“Yes.”

James saw him glance down, as if weighing options. What options those were, were unknown. “I need to get the flight recorder from my ship,” Steve stated at last, looking up at him, determined.

“The Scavs,” he began, briefly glancing out at the expansive but still relatively dark sky. “They move all over at night. They could be all over it by now—”

“I need to know what happened,” Steve cut in, slightly angry and desperate. James caught those beautiful blue-green eyes of Steve’s with his own. Searching, as if trying to find something on him… within him.

James didn’t know why a strange yearning tugged at him. He didn’t want to dare repeat what he had confessed in whispers, while watching over the sleeping form of Steve for those brief few minutes last night.

“You need to know what happened,” Steve said. James thought he heard a hint of pleading in Steve’s tone— “Please.”

It wasn’t so much the ‘please’ that solidified the want to help, but just the need to try to clear Steve’s confusion, along with his own. Perhaps, if they did get that flight recorder, maybe – just maybe it would clear things up. Maybe Steve would know or at least try to help him understand just _why_ he saw him in his dreams.

“I’ll be right back,” he stated.

“Thank you,” Steve’s whispered answer, full of relief, followed him down the stairs.

James quickly changed into his uniform, and pulled his rifle and pistol out – checking to see that both had full clips. It was almost daytime, but with the dense clouds, it would still be dark on the ground – still ripe for Scav movement.

He returned to the main floor, and gestured for Steve to follow. Outside, it was calm, cold, but not windy as it had been. Tapping the wrist wrap he had connected to the Dragonfly, the doors on both sides opened.

Steve settled himself in the copilot’s chair, snapping his harness in securely, while James settled himself in the pilot’s chair. Preflight checks on the systems looked good – the storm had done no damage to the aircraft. Yet, he couldn’t help but glance into the tower, towards the bedroom, and see Natasha still sleeping there.

Then, he caught Steve’s eyes on him, briefly following his gaze to Natasha before settling back onto him. James tore his eyes away and activated the engines. He gave it the bare minimum amount of time it needed to fully heat up, before pushing on the throttle while yanking the stick back.

The Dragonfly shot up from the landing pad and looped down into the clouds below.

They were less than five kilometers away from the Tower, when Natasha’s voice issued from the open comm link. James wore the earwig, but he didn’t know why he kept the link open, instead of in its usual private state.

“James? James, what are you doing?” Natasha’s voice echoed ever so slightly in the cockpit.

“Natasha, he’s a flight officer. He wants to see his ship and secure the flight recorder,” James calmly stated, well aware of Steve’s concerned eyes on him. “You’d want the same thing if you were in his shoes.”

Silence answered him. James guided the Dragonfly to Sector 17, passing through the dense cloud layer. It was still quite dark, and there were still patches of light rain showers in the flight path they took.

“James… I-I can’t protect you,” Natasha spoke up, fearful.

He knew what she meant. As grateful as he was for the times in which she had intervened with Pierce on slightly off-nominal ways to ensure their duties were still carried out, this was something he could not put on her. She had her marching orders, and he had his – choosing to disobey yet again.

“No,” he said, feeling sad yet also happy to relieve her of that burden. “This one is on me.”

James reached up and flicked the red switch to completely disable the comm. It would not only be recorded in the sensors that connected the Dragonfly’s systems to the tower, but also be recorded in the data packet that was sent up at AOS.

He glanced over, catching Steve’s eyes upon him with a rather curious look on his face. Steve opened his mouth, but then snapped it shut. Whatever the man was going to say, it seemed that he was going to keep it to himself.

“Pierce won’t punish me too severely when Natasha and I get up there in less than two weeks,” he stated, trying to put as much confidence in his voice. “Not with the five years we’ve put into this tour.”

He honestly did not know how Pierce would react, considering the past few days of losing drones, a hydrorig failure, and disobedience to go to Sector 17. But the worry he saw in the depths of Steve’s eyes seemed different than the worry he saw day in and day out with Natasha.

Steve didn’t answer, and instead, glanced away. James continued to fly them towards Sector 17. However, he didn’t know why he did so, but a moment later, he pulled back on the stick to send them just a little higher – above the low-hanging clouds.

“You see over there, to the left?”raising his left hand briefly from the throttle to point out the window.

As he absently traced the fading glow of the destroyed moon, he heard Steve suck in a quick breath. James kept his eyes forward, letting Steve take in what had happened sixty years ago in silence. After a few minutes, he nosed the Dragonfly back down.

“How… how many?”

“Millions from starvation alone,” James answered, not looking over, even as he felt Steve’s eyes upon him. “More from the many tsunami and quakes. What’s left...is up there, on Mars or on the Triskelion.”

“Why you?” Steve quietly asked after a few minutes of flying in silence. “Why you and Natasha?”

“We were assigned to this mission,” he stated. “I don’t have any memories before five years. Security wipe. It’s protocol. To protect the safety of—”

“—the survivors. Of Humanity,” Steve softly finished. Out of the corner of his eyes, James noticed that Steve was looking at his folded hands on his lap. “Just the two of you, alone?”

James glanced over. Steve’s raised expression was unreadable, but there seemed to be a melancholic countenance about him.

“Safer that way,” he stated. “Most of the drone functions are automated, except when they’re shot down. Drones can usually take care of themselves against the remnants of the Scav armies. But like all things, there are time where things require a more… human touch. That’s where I come in, repairing them either in the field, or in the workshop.”

Steve looked away.

An inexplicable feeling of having said something wrong briefly filled James. He wanted to point to the fact that he was not only disobeying orders, but also violating security protocols by telling Steve all of them. But it wasn’t either the two that gave him such a disconcerting feeling.

James couldn’t help but feel that he had missed something significant in Steve’s question.

Soon, they descended further below, and came upon the crash site. It was enveloped in light fog. James landed the Dragonfly, after a couple of aerial passes. There were no signs of Scavs, but with darkness and fog still surrounding them, he was not taking any chances.

As careful as he was in taking his rifle and panning it this way and that, he was a little surprised to see Steve acting as wary as he was. The movements that governed Steve as they approached the burnt main body seemed to mirror his own – minus the fact that Steve was not holding a firearm.

But those cautious, careful movement forward stopped as a cool breeze blew some of the fog away, revealing the extent of what had happened. Steve was staring at one of the pods, blown into a charred husk by the drones, expression crumpling from shock to grief.

“I couldn’t save them,” he stated. There were no words of comfort he could give to Steve. All he could tell him was the truth.

It seemed that those words enough for Steve to shake himself out of his fugue. James took a small perimeter check while Steve went into the remnants of the spacecraft’s main body. He heard the faint sounds of Steve grunting with exertion in moving debris from areas within the ruins.

After a few minutes of seeing nothing jumping out at them, James glanced back. Steve was no longer at the front end of the ruins. He slowly backed up to the other entrance, though something strange had caught is eye.

A meter away from the secondary entrance, it looked like something had been dragged out. Recently, from the grooves he saw on the ground. James peered into the rectangular object, and saw ripped wiring and a small housing that used to contain something.

_Strange…_

Movement out of the corner of his eyes returned his attention onto Steve. Stepping inside, he lowered his rifle as he saw Steve gingerly approach. He was more than concerned about the fact that there were freshly made grooves in the ground – and that the Scavs had specifically stolen something.

“All right,” he quietly stated to Steve. “It’s time to go.”

Instead of concern, there was a hopeful expression on Steve’s face. The man held up a dark red rectangular box. It had a flashing light sparking on one end. “James… I found it—”

The optimistic in Steve’s tone, reflecting his expression, suddenly slid into wide-eyed horror. James whipped around, eyes widening in shock.

Scavs; a lot of them.

He took a step out, bringing his rifle to bear—and felt the explosion of white-hot pain against his head. Stumbling, disorientation gripped him another blinding driving pain hit the same spot again. He could hear Steve shouting, incoherent to him.

Fumbling as his world tipped sideways, and the rifle slipped from his hands, the stars in his eyes rapidly began to expand to black. In a last desperate attempt to keep awake, James tried to tap his wrist wrap – to send the Dragonfly to the tower—

Then, darkness.

~~~

Natasha bit her nails – panicking and frightened by what she had just witnessed through the Dragonfly’s cameras. James was captured. Recklessly running off with that man before dawn to retrieve a flight recorder. Running into known danger – she knew that James knew just how dangerous it was on the ground before dawn.

And yet… he still went.

_Do you have any memories before the mission? Before the security wipe five years ago?_

They were not supposed to remember. No memories, nothing, and James’ tone, the interrogation with just those two questions frightened her. They were not **supposed** to remember.

_Do you remember him?_

Natasha didn’t. But she could not explain the strange feeling of jealousy that welled up within her whenever she looked at Steve. Perfect teeth, perfect hair, perfect height, perfect specimen of a body – it wasn’t physical jealousy. But rather she realized she was jealous with the way Steve seemed to capture James’ attention with ease.

Natasha worked hard to capture James’ attention for the past five years, each year, each month, week, and down to the day getting progressively easier as she came to understand him, physically and mentally. But he, no, they still had their moments when they ‘fought’. Especially when she reminded him to not put their mission – their people – at risk with his ‘off-comm’ adventures, or habit of picking up potentially contaminated paraphernalia.

She tried to understand James, and thought she had succeeded. Until last night.

_Do you remember him?_

James remembered. She didn’t know what, or how much, but just that question was enough for her to guess. And that was as frightening as his abduction by Scavs. She didn’t know how he had memories of a life that neither of them could have been born into. How James remembered Steve…

Despite everything, she still wanted to protect him. As reckless as he had been, perhaps the Scavs – perhaps Steve – would be able to barter for James’ life. After all, it was a Scav beacon that had brought the ship down.

Better to feed the Scavs their summoning and get James back. Especially if the rapport she had seen between the two was what she suspected. Yet, Natasha knew that she could not put all of her eggs in one basket. She didn’t know—

_No._

Natasha took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She glanced to her left. Fifteen minutes until the Triskelion was AOS. She had time to compose herself and think of something to tell Pierce.

Getting up, she went down to the main floor and quickly got ready for the day. When she returned back to the tower control room, the Dragonfly returned, landing on the pad – pilot-less.

Natasha sat down and two seconds after AOS, Pierce’s image resolved itself on the upper left corner of her console screen. “How are y’all doing this lovely morning?”

She put on her best smile, hoping that it was enough to mask her nervousness and panic. “Another day in paradise.”

“Good.” Pierce looked pleased.

Natasha took a deep mental breath. “Pierce… James took a predawn patrol and went off-comm near the canyons in 17. I know we’re low on drones, but… um… requesting one to sweep the area?”

Pierce’s expression did not change.

“Just a quick scout,” Natasha added.

For five long seconds, Pierce continued to stare at her. Then, “Copy 49. Re-tasking Drone 185 to Grid 22.”

~*~*~*~


End file.
